


Firecracker

by sw33n3y



Category: The Professionals
Genre: 'Admiring insolence', Multi, era-typical chauvenism, violin joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:12:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8459674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sw33n3y/pseuds/sw33n3y
Summary: In which our heroine becomes an International Woman of Mystery.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A Ficlet for ML Mead (moonlightmead)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A+Ficlet+for+ML+Mead+%28moonlightmead%29).



> The second of two fics for ML Mead (Moonlightmead) - this one was written in 2015. 
> 
> An affectionate salute to a friend whose spark is sorely missed, but warmly remembered.

 

 

Vermeer it was not. A feeble shaft of sunlight bled through the patchwork glass above the sink, softening the otherwise spartan interior of the break room. Bodie’s face was buried in the morning edition. It had been an uneventful week, made even longer by the absence of Agent Four-Five who’d been tied up with a special surveillance job, out of town.

He’d just got past the main articles when something dragged his attention away from the print. A single brow broke over the paper’s horizon at the muffled, but recognizable sound coming from the far end of the hall.

The voice grew louder and with the recognition that it belonged to his partner in crime - or prevention of, came a smile. Doyle finally ambled through the doorway, larger than life; almost colliding with Jax, who was busy wrestling coat and biscuit while trying to answer his RT.

‘Ah, was beginning to think you’d got to the steps and scarpered at the thought of the next all-nighter’ chirped Bodie.

Doyle carefully ignored him and shrugged out of his jacket. Taking his time, he draped the coat over the back of a chair, pulled the teapot across the tannin stained boards and poured himself a cup.

‘And what news of the west is received at court?’ Bodie inquired with extra plum, sloshing milk generously in the direction of Doyle’s mug and onto the table around it.

‘What?’ squinted Doyle, forehead crinkling into a pained expression.

‘Newport.’

‘Yeah, well nothing worth losing sleep over’ he conceded, brow bunching resignedly. ..’Small time. Amateurs with delusions of grandeur, weren’t they? It was all over before intermission. Even got a pint in before last bell. St David’s Day, local pub had a band - were good too!’

Bodie’s eyes dropped back to the paper as he mustered a deep sigh for effect.

‘Mm, meanwhile some of us have been working our fingers to the bone, to pay for your holiday jaunts…and on meagre rations’ he muttered, pulling another digestive from the packet.

Ray was doing his best to hold off a grin when there was a fresh burst of activity in the hallway.

‘We’ve got bigger problems’ announced Anson, gusting into the room abruptly. He’d heard the tail end of Bodie’s lament.

‘How’s that?’

‘Competition, Newport side’ he continued, dumping a manila folder on the table, the contents sliding out on impact.

The words had Bodie out of his chair, curiosity prevailing over the matter of his half-eaten biscuit.  He scanned the first couple of lines.

‘What’s Five doing in with this one?’ he frowned back at the messenger.

‘Not Five. .. Six.’

‘Six!’

‘Got a description:  girl, small redhead, academic. Live wire. Party looking for a place to happen. Handy with codes and languages. Can move across borders without suspicion.’

Bodie’s lips pursed into a soundless whistle as he turned the page to a more readable angle.  ‘And get this: knows her plastics from her powders.’

It took a moment to process all the clues, but then the penny dropped. From under his brow Bodie made the last connection and levelled a gaze directly at Ray. ….‘You old dog!’ he rasped, low and hushed, breaking into a knowing grin.

Anson’s radar tripped. He paused and smirked at Doyle, amused. The smell of strife was too much to resist.

‘Now I’ve got it!’ Bodie decided, his voice becoming more audible. ’Yeah! Jax said you came in all smiles. ..Something ‘bout a little ‘flame-haired’ bird and a bottle of mead. ..Firecracker Sans Frontieres, ehy?’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ protested Doyle, his face lighting up with indignation.

‘Ohh, no!’ swore Bodie, in a tone that approached _Old Vic_ ‘Strictly Dafydd ap Gwilym and Radio Times I’m sure.’ He was dancing from one foot to the other now, slack-jawed and grinning mercilessly.

‘Daf… funny y’ should! ...What would you know, anyway?’ spluttered Doyle, finger rubbing nervously at the bridge of his nose.

His tell was all the confirmation Bodie needed. He swung his head away, barely suppressing a chuckle. ‘Mate! You’ve been played! ..Old Man’s gonna bounce on your head like it’s a violin.’

‘Leave it out!’ Doyle huffed dismissively. He was about to follow through with something suitably caustic, then stopped short and scowled. ‘...Don’t you mean, trampoline?’

‘Nah! Take your shoes off to jump on a trampoline, don’t you?’

The pause was calculated and Bodie’s shoulder arched into a defensive hunch even before the last words were out. Realization then descended on Doyle. He rolled his eyes, punching at the space where Bodie had been, as the last trace of him disappeared around the door, into the hall.

 _Bloody Bodie!_ A flippant Three-Seven was one thing but it was becoming clear that the situation needed defusing - and fast. Doyle would have some explaining to do before this one went up in his face. 

 

 

oooOOOooo


End file.
